


you're all i'm looking for

by pocky_slash



Series: grace coming out of the void [7]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Episode Related, Established Relationship, M/M, Mid-episode 31, Plans For The Future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-29 02:22:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19820569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocky_slash/pseuds/pocky_slash
Summary: Spoilers for Episode 31As the gang gets ready for the fight to come, Barclay seeks a clarification and Indrid is prepared to have strong opinions about bathroom tile.





	you're all i'm looking for

**Author's Note:**

> **SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 31**
> 
> So I was much less jossed by the last episode than I expected and also spent the whole thing thinking, "BUT WHERE'S BARCLAY?"
> 
> Ergo, this little post-ep. 
> 
> This probably makes the most sense if you've read at least the story directly before this in the series, if not all of them, but I can't imagine, at this point in the game, that anyone interested in Barclay/Indrid _hasn't_ read every other fic on AO3 already, heh. (And if you have been reading, maybe toss out a comment if you're in the mood? I am nearly always desperate for validation, but it's doubly true while sailing on this microship, tee bee aitch.)
> 
> Title via Dar Williams' "I Have Been Around the World."

When Barclay gets back from spreading the word about the plan to the other Sylphs, Indrid is outside the Cryptonomica, washing the surveillance truck.

He has so many questions.

He parks Mama's truck and hops out, wandering over to the side the building, hands shoved in his pockets. He wants to look cool, but he can't get the giant grin off of his face. The world is most likely going to end tonight, but Indrid is here and right now that's worth everything.

"So, do I want to know what hot yoga is?" he asks, leaning against the side of the building. Indrid startles and drops the hose, then nearly trips on it when he turns around. He relaxes when he sees Barclay, and the whole routine makes it clear that his premonitions still aren't back up to speed; Barclay almost never catches him so off guard.

"It's just like regular yoga, except the room is very warm and humid," Indrid says. "You'd hate it."

Barclay grins and approaches Indrid, dropping his hands. Indrid is damp and rumpled in sweats and a too-big tank top. He's holding a sponge and looks like a parody of those teen carwash fantasies, if, instead of high school cheerleaders, they were populated with gangly, awkward, ageless disaster gays who look like they haven't slept in a week. "I _thought_ you seemed more flexible the other night," Barclay says.

"Yes, it's all for you, my dear."

Barclay gestures at Indrid and the truck and the hose and the remains of the soapy water draining down the slight incline of the tarmac and into the gutter. "Was this for me too?"

Indrid flicks a clump of suds stubbornly clinging to his hair at Barclay and sniffs.

"Why are you even doing this?" Barclay asks, laughing as the suds float sluggishly in the air between them and then loop down towards the ground.

"Duck said that we'd need the truck to--" Indrid stops abruptly and snaps his mouth shut. Barclay tries to bite back his laughter, with mixed results. "Is it possible," Indrid says slowly, "that Duck was having me on? And that, unaware of the fact that my precognition has been intermittently hard to rely on, he assumed I would understand it was a joke?"

"It's possible," Barclay manages to say before he has to double over laughing. Indrid smacks him on the arm and Barclay grabs his wrist before he can move away, pulling him into a damp embrace.

"It's not funny!" Indrid insists. "I'm freezing!"

"Poor baby," Barclay says, but Indrid really is covered in goosebumps and cool to the touch. "This feels like an opening to say something cheesy like, 'I'll warm you up,' but honestly, go get changed into something dry and I'll take care of the hose and stuff, okay?"

Indrid wiggles free and shakes himself to unrumple his clothes and hair before he stalks off towards his Winnebago. Barclay shouldn't laugh, he really shouldn't, but another snicker slips out as he leans over to pick up the hose and start to put away the various washing implements scattered around the pavement.

He has to admit, the truck really does look cleaner than it has in a while. It had been covered in mud the last time they took it out and no one's touched it since Ned died, which means there was a heavy layer of blinding yellow pollen residue on top of it as well. Now it looks, if not pristine, at least serviceable.

He's sure there's a metaphor in there about getting over Ned's death, but his mood is too good to risk unpacking it just this second.

Barclay turns off the hose and winds it back up next to the spigot in the wall, then dumps the bucket Indrid was using and squeezes out the sponge, leaving them both near the back door of the Cryptonomica. He takes a seat on the stoop, just as Indrid reemerges from his R/V, dressed in jeans and a hoodie with his arms crossed against his chest as he marches back over to Barclay.

He's still pissed, but Barclay remains impossibly happy to see him and even happier to hold out his arms and have Indrid nestle down next to him in a half embrace.

Or, at least, he is until he sees what Indrid is wearing.

"Where the hell did you get that?" he asks, plucking at the front of the too big sweatshirt. It's wild that Barclay was able to forget for five whole minutes that Indrid is _an asshole_.

"Oh, this?" Indrid says, with treacly feigned innocence. He looks down at his chest where the words _I FOUND BIGFOOT AT THE CRYPTONOMICA_ are emblazoned in purple letters above a silhouette of a cartoon bigfoot. Then he looks back up at Barclay and smiles serenely. "I purchased it here, of course."

Barclay pinches the bridge of his nose. "And why are you wearing it?"

"Because you were very rude to me just now and I want you to suffer," Indrid says cheerfully. "Also, it's very warm." He holds his arm out and Barclay slips his fingers up the arm of the sweatshirt. It is, in fact, very soft and warm.

"Who knew?" Barclay says. "I would've thought, Ned being Ned, he'd pay as little as possible for merchandise."

It feels, simultaneously, fitting to invoke Ned in such a way and a little like a betrayal. Barclay kept Ned at arm's length and tolerated him more as a co-worker than a friend, but the loss still aches, maybe even more than some of the other Pine Guard losses he's witnessed over the years.

Indrid must sense the shift in tone, because his smugness dissipates (mostly--he's always a little smug) and he leans against Barclay's side, wrapping his arms around his waist. Barclay tucks an arm around his shoulder and pulls him close, sighing against the top of his head.

"I'm glad you're here," he says. "If we're going to die...well, I'm just glad if we're going to die, at least we'll be in the same place. At least we get to see each other again before it happens." The last time he saw Indrid was only a few days ago, but it feels endlessly longer. They had eight hours together and they spent them fighting, fucking, and with Barclay on the verge of a nervous breakdown. He's spent the last few days obsessing over every interaction they had that night--he was both mortified and heartbroken that what were likely his last hours with Indrid were destined to be so needy and desperate.

This is...good. Well, not good--Barclay can't say he's eager for the destruction of two worlds or excited for the end of his own life, but if it has to happen, it's the best possible outcome. He's spent more than one late night since reuniting with Indrid haunted by the idea that one of them could die and the other would never know. That they would die without being able to say goodbye, without seeing each other one last time. At least this way, he doesn't have to worry or obsess or miss his chance to spend his last hours with this person he loves. Indrid is here. Neither of them will be here for much longer, but they're here together for at least some of the time they have left.

"There's no need to write our plan off entirely just yet," Indrid says lightly. "Not all the futures are doom and gloom. Most of them, yes, but there are some chances to escape."

Barclay makes a quiet noise of acknowledgement. He doesn't _mean_ for it to sound dismissive or dubious, but. Well.

Indrid exhales slowly against his throat and then shifts just enough to press a tender kiss to Barclay's jaw.

"Besides," he adds after a moment, "the world isn't allowed to end until we've had a go at this real estate business. I refuse to be destroyed by a planet devouring menace until we've had at least one argument over bathroom tiling."

Barclay stills. This, of course, is the other reason he's been castigating himself since he and Indrid last saw each other.

"Do you have strong feelings about bathroom tiling?" Barclay asks. He's aiming for casual; he's sure he misses.

"No," Indrid says, "but it feels like the sort of thing we should argue about if we're buying a house." After a pause, he adds, "I may not be the most socially aware person in this relationship, but I get the feeling something's wrong. Have you changed your mind about settling down?"

"No," Barclay says, "not at all. I just...."

_I'm just afraid_ you've _changed your mind,_ he doesn't say.

Because Barclay was, frankly, a wreck the other night. He was scared and upset and overwhelmed and Indrid was so, so patient with him. He was patient the way he was all those years ago, when Barclay was new to Earth and had no idea what to do with himself.

Indrid is nomadic. As far as Barclay knows, he's never stayed in one place for longer than a few months, at least for as long as he's been on Earth. He's not the type of person to decide to pack it all in and buy a house in the country. He might be, however, the type of person to tell his boyfriend that buying a house sounds like a good idea in order to talk said boyfriend down from a panic attack. Especially if he thinks he won't survive long enough to go through with it.

"Dearest," Indrid says gently, which is playing dirty. He has to know by now that the endearments he sprinkles into casual conversation make Barclay's knees weak.

"I just want to be sure that's what _you_ want," Barclay says. "It's okay if you don't. It's okay if you just said it to calm me down or make me happy because the odds are we're all going to die anyway. I won't be mad or upset--I just don't want you to tie yourself down to something you don't--"

Indrid kisses Barclay mid-breath, leaving him frozen for a moment, light-headed, until he remembers he has a nose as well. He breathes in and melts against Indrid and kisses him back, preening as Indrid's fingers comb through his hair and then stroke gently against his beard. He's quiet when Indrid pulls away, slowly and sweetly.

"For someone as smart as you are, you can certainly be quite an idiot," he says, and then presses another quick kiss to the corner of Barclay's mouth. Barclay tries to muster up a glare at the jab, but it's pointless when he's this dizzy from affection. "Of course this is what I want. You know me better than anyone--you should know I'd never bother to lie about something like this to placate you. I'm much too obnoxious for that."

"You're not wrong," Barclay says with a small smile. 

"I don't know if we'll survive this," Indrid says. "But if we do, I plan to keep my promises. I want to make more promises to you, even."

There's only one other thing Barclay can think to ask for right now, but he knows it's unfair to beg Indrid not to die unless Barclay is destined to die as well.

Instead he says, "For the time being, I'd settle for grabbing some lunch before the others get back."

"I could do lunch," Indrid, the world's pickiest eater, says tentatively.

Barclay moves to stand and offers Indrid a hand up. "Mrs. Pearson is at her poker game. We should have enough time to go back to the apartment. I promise I'll make something you'll like."

"Where you go, I'll follow, my dear," Indrid says.

It's the sort of promise that Barclay could let himself get used to if they survive the end of the world.


End file.
